Money, Men, War and Whiskey
by JoGeek
Summary: A story of easygoing "Whiskey" Amber Otho, raised by her bard father and a tavern of his friends. Her unfortunate taste in men leads to her being hunted by the powerful wife of her ex-lover, and forced to seek anonymity in a mercenary company
1. Child of the Tavern

_Author's Note:  Well here's a new one, let's see how it plays out.  Don't worry, it won't take too much time from The Saga of Boy, as the games run on opposite weekends :-)  _

**Chapter 1:  A Child of the Tavern**

Amber Osho looked up from her lesson book at the wild thunder of applause and strained to see around the doorframe.  Her father must be doing well tonight.  She couldn't hear the strains of his music over all the men singing, but the noise told her there would be gold on the stage when he was done. 

A woman in a tight-fitting bodice suddenly blocked her view and she snapped her eyes back to her book as if she'd never looked away.  The woman gave her a knowing smile and set a plate of hot stew by her elbow.

"They're putty in his hands."  The woman said kindly, knowing the girl was waiting for news.  "He's finally taking advice and skipping the classics for the rowdies they can sing along to, and if he's not careful he'll be buried under the coins."

"Thanks Tish!"  the girl said, satisfied.  She turned back to her lesson book.

Tish slid the girl's chalk-scribbled slate around to her to double check the answers.  The girl watched her slyly out of the corner of her eye, but the older woman gave no indication of noticing.

"Not bad sprout.  Who was the Catavashan emperor before this one?"

"Gliesnard Farather, he became a Lich at 1,245 years old."

"Good.  And the sum of fourteen and nineteen?"

"Thirty three.  Can I go now?"

"Yes, as soon as you eat something."

Amber quickly ate the stew in front of her and bolted out the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to the aging serving maid.  She wove her way through the crowd to the bar and scrambled up onto it for a better view of the stage.  She could barely see her father's head over the crush of patrons, but that changed when the bartender, a towering half-orc, scooped her up and set her on his shoulders with a chuckle.  She kissed the top of his head playfully.

"Thank you Grander!"

"My pleasure sprout, just don't fall off or your father'll have my guts."

Amber giggled at the thought of her slender dad putting his fists up to the hulking giant of a bartender, half again his height and four times his bulk.  Grander raised an eyebrow.

"You mockin' me, sprout?  Well let me tell you, your father's a fearsome opponent in a fight.  We've been friends for many years and I've seen him mop the floor with folks bigger than I am."

"Nuh-Uh Grander, my dad doesn't fight!"

"You don't think so?  Well, let me tell you about the time we were on the road together, before you were born..."

He began the story and Amber reacted with appropriate laughter and awe at all the right places.  She'd heard this one several dozen times before, but never tired of it, or any of the other stories of her father's adventures.  As usual, the Halfling sitting at the end of the bar interrupted every now and then with a correction, usually to his own aggrandizement.  When he and Grander fell to arguing, as usual, over who killed the most bugbears near a certain cave, Amber hopped down off the bartender's shoulders and worked her way down the bar.  She whistled the chorus of the song her father played as she poured drinks for the regulars.  She knew by now just who she could charm tips from.

"So Miss Amber, I hear your father's leaving us again," an elderly man called out to her as she carefully counted out his change.

"Never for long, Mr. Noventer!"  she called back gaily over the general noise.  She wondered if the rumors were true, and as always whether she was happy to look forward to the adventures of the road, or sad to leave her friends here.  It may have been both, but that sort of compromise would have leeched the moment of all its dramatic satisfaction.  In that she was her father's child. 

The rumor was confirmed that night when he came to take her upstairs after his last song.  She was in a chair in the small tavern office, to all appearances fast asleep beneath a thick woolen cloak when he came in with Tish.

"She looks so tired, I hate to wake her."

"Then don't.  And by the way, one of these days you're going to have to settle in one place for that child.  Do you think she's up for another six months on the road when you just returned from the last trip?"

"Amber's fine, she's resilient.  I don't know about her being a bard with her attention span, but there's a niche out there for her somewhere."

"It'll be an odd one for sure, the poor without roots or mother, raised by wenches and drunks.  You need to settle Daget, and give that child a home and mother."

"You volunteering, Tish m'love?"

"Stow it you old flirt, I may have four decades under my belt but I'm still too young for you!"

She snapped him with a towel and Amber fought to hold back a giggle.  She was glad her face wasn't showing from beneath the cloak for she was sure her mouth was twitching.  Tish's voice took on a more serious note.

"When are you leaving Daget?"

"In the morning, I've contracted with a trading caravan heading to the Unclaimed Territories."

"Be careful won't you?  Bring both yourselves back again."

"Of course m'gal, have I ever failed you in that? Now hold the lantern for me while I tuck this little raccoon into bed."

Tish muttered something under her breath, causing Daget to chuckle.  He carefully scooped up Amber in his arms and carried her to their room.  She snuggled deep into the pillows on her bed and decided finally that she was excited to be going on the road again.  She would miss her friends at the May Leaf Tavern, but six months wasn't long, considering.

The trading Caravan was a riot of color, fascinating smells and exotic designs.  Even the horses pulling some of the wagons had swatches of bright fabric woven into their manes and tails.  Amber had never met Gypsies before, and thought them beautiful and graceful as they checked the shipment of silk against travel wear. The group of wandering folk made up nearly a third of the caravan, and they brought with them as always their wives and children. Her father noticed her eyeing the other ten year olds with some trepidation and pulled a packet of hard candies from his backpack.  He handed them to Amber and nodded towards the other children. 

"Go and share them around."

Amber nodded gratefully and skipped over to the group.  She hadn't had much contact with people under twenty, so she approached the gypsy children almost as if they were a new species to befriend.  Fortunately for her, the children were gregarious and curious, and dragged her instantly into some game of mock warfare.

Amber's father watched her with amusement, rocking slightly on his heels.  He turned gracefully when he heard footsteps approach him from the left, and saw the familiar face of his employer.  He smiled and raised an eyebrow as Daget executed a theatrical bow, then offered his hand to shake.  The man's eye caught the flash of red hair amongst the darker gypsy children and shot Daget a look.

"She your's?  I'd worry about her associating with that crowd."

"She is, and I'm not worried.  Amber is well able to take care of herself."

He smiled indulgently as Amber went from participant to director, and laid siege to the imagined castle of the other group.  His employer shook his head disapprovingly.

"Well it's your choice of course, but I suppose there aren't really any other children to play with on this short a journey.  I'd just keep an eye out to be sure she isn't picking up any bad habits that young.  Anyway, I've found room in the wagons if you need it, but most of our company prefers to sleep out."

He phrased it almost as a question and Daget nodded graciously.

"Of course, but I need a dry place to store my instruments."

"Already arranged."

"Then we are at your service, good sir."

The man excused himself and headed back towards the train.  Daget waited for his attention to be engaged elsewhere and headed to the Gypsy wagons.  The area was a well-practiced bustle of activity, and he managed to catch a word here and there from his limited vocabulary.

"Santi" he called out the greeting in their language, "hello!"

A woman came forward with a suspicious look.  Daget bowed deeply and used up a few more of his repertoire, speaking in what he hoped was a good accent.

_"Luck to you and your family, I will be traveling with the Prozul train to sing and play, you are welcome to come and listen, I would like to learn your music as well."_

She smiled amiably and ushered him into their camp to introduce around.  He caught every third word or so of what she said to him, but to his relief she didn't seem to expect a response.  When she reached a man putting out the last of their campfires she introduced Daget with some triumph.  Daget caught his own name and the words "Prozul" and "liraca" in the tirade before she turned back to him and introduced her fellow gypsy.

"Satiajo."  She announced, pointing to the man, "liraca...mu-sik." 

He understood and bowed to the man before offering his hand.  The man Satiajo took it willingly and returned the bow.

"Welcome," he said in accented common, "I look forward to sharing some new songs, and you're welcome to join our fire once the Prozul's have turned in for the night."

"I thank you, and also on the behalf of my daughter.  I hope you will allow your children to spend time with her, she doesn't have the opportunity often to play."

Satiajo looked over at the fierce little redhead leading the "troops" and chuckled. 

"Who will allow or disallow those of her age to do anything?  They seem to be enjoying their games, I will ask mine to not play too roughly."

"Do not trouble yourself, please; it wouldn't be fair to them unless I ask the same of her!"

He spent some time discussing their caravan and complimenting the health of their horses, picking up some new words before returning to the Prozul wagons to begin the journey.

Each night her father would play long classical ballads for the Prozul family, and told patriotic tales until the moon rose.  Then while the family slept Daget and Amber would make their way to the Gypsy camp, where fast improvisational tunes wove together and challenged all who listened to dance.  Daget and Satiajo learned each others' styles and created new styles together through the long evenings.  Amber learned quickly to eat lightly of the hard rations served by the Prozuls to save room for the exotic hot dishes of the Gypsies: from bubbling goat cheeses eaten with crusty bread to brandy-soaked pancakes lit afire and tossed high in the air to delighted shouts and served with sweet preserves. 

She watched in fascination as the men displayed their peculiar fighting style, more dance than battle.  Their moves were hypnotic, a curved blade in either hand catching the light of the fire as the edges met in ceremonial combat.  The older children taught her the basics they'd learned from birth, using curved Kukri daggers instead of the adult Scimitars.  She worked tirelessly at it, ignoring blisters and cuts to be able to join the youngest children in a performance for the tribe.  The fact that she was in a display of children two to four years younger did not daunt her, and her father's standing ovation meant much more to her than the accolades of the tribe. 

By the end of the three month trip the folklore and customs of the Gypsy family were ingrained in Amber.  She'd had palm and cards read for her and carried charms against the evil-eye.  One of the older girls braided Amber's hair into long, tiny red-gold ropes down to her shoulders, telling her the braids would confuse the spirits that brought ill fortune.   

Three months flew like lightning, and Amber felt her time in this exciting new world running out. She made an attempt to be sad and mournful, but there were too many things to catch her interest and inspire laughter every day.  Only when the caravan pulled into its final destination and began to offload did Amber manage tears at the thought of leaving her new friends.  Her father received his pay and recommendation from the Prozuls, and attempted to console her by heading to a weapons shop.  He found her a Kukri blade of her own, delicately etched with the image of a climbing vine in full leaf.  When he presented it to her she spared only a nostalgic sigh for the memories it evoked before she was completely distracted by its beauty and balance. 

With the Kukri dagger displayed proudly in her belt she followed her father to an Inn for lunch.  Her father wisely began retelling one of Gander's old stories, turning her thoughts back to the tavern in Lansovar she called home.  The recommendation from the Prozuls was enough to get them a job bringing a set of three horses safely to Lansovar, where they'd been sold to a noble family.  With no wagons to slow them they were home in just over a month, Daget riding one horse and leading the third.  He collected the pay still owed him and headed for the May Leaf Tavern. 


	2. Hair of the Dog That Bit

_Author's Note: I hope this chapter doesn't jump around too much, I've summed up quite a bit of her background in one chapter to keep the story from dragging. _

**Chapter Two: Hair of the Dog That Bit**

Sixteen year old Amber half-climbed, half stumbled up the stairs to her room, singing off-key and laughing at nothing whatsoever. She and the handsome man beside her used each other for support, which gave him an excuse to stop and kiss her heavily every few steps. She turned the corner to the final stair with his arm around her waist and stopped at the sight of the unidentifiable obstacle between her and her door. She blinked her eyes clear and the blur coalesced into the form of Tish, wearing an angry expression and both fists planted menacingly on her hips. Amber faltered on the next line of the song and fell silent, trying to clear her head enough to get past Tish without removing her steadying hand from the wall.

"Amber Osho, what do you think you're doing?"

The voice was too loud and sharp for her in her inebriated state. She felt a kind of panic in her guts as she tried to concentrate on what the words meant.

"m'goin t'bed."

"mmmmm-hhhmmm. And where," she said looking daggers at the man, "do you think YOU'RE going then?"

The man quailed for a moment in the face of her wrath, then remembered his station in life and drew himself up indignantly.

"I fail to see," he said with suspicious sobriety, "how that's any business of a servant's."

"I see," replied Tish icily, "well then let me explain it to you. This," she indicated one arm towards Amber, "is my daughter, at least according to her da's last wishes. And as such, I'll be damned if I'm going to let some lecherous rich boy take advantage of her when she's drunk. So you can turn around and leave quietly, and never be seen with her again, or I can call out the bartender, who watches over her as his own, and HE can try explaining it to you in simpler terms."

Grander's reputation was almost legendary, and the man paled significantly. He pulled away from Amber and let her slump to the steps, no longer laughing. Holding up both hands he backed down the stairs, then fled out the side door they'd come in, cursing as the locks held him up briefly. He left the door swinging and Tish could hear the beat of his footsteps running at full speed down the alley.

She looked down at Amber with a sigh of disappointment and hauled the girl unceremoniously to her feet. She half-carried her downstairs and deposited her in a chair before locking up the alley door. She fetched a pot of tea and some mugs from the kitchen and placed them on the table as she sat down across from Amber. The girl was looking at her reproachfully.

"Whaddya do that for?"

Tish set herself like a stone, without emotion or pity.

"Your father would roll over in his grave if he could see you tonight."

Shocked tears sprang to Amber's eyes and she looked as if Tish had stabbed her in the gut.

"How dare you, how dare you say that to me!"

"Do you think you're the only one who misses him girl? Don't you understand that after all the work he went through to see you raised right, that what you're doing is like slapping the man in the face? He thought you'd amount to something great. And look at you...." She put as much scorn as possible into the last sentence, even though it broke her heart to treat Amber harshly. "If you go one more day like this you'll never amount to anything but another washed-up piece of bar trash like the other girls here."

"That's a bit rich, coming from you."

Trish nearly winced at the barb, but held steady. They'd tried everything to bring her around, it was time to remove the silk.

"Is it? You don't see me getting drunk every night and whoring myself out to any guy that can flash a gold coin..."

"He's not just any guy!" Amber interrupted angrily, "Radan loves me, and I love him. He was going to marry me..."

Tish snorted, then looked at her pityingly. "Radan Juno? Is that who that great sissy was?"

Amber nodded defiantly.

"He said he'd never met anyone like me, and that he didn't care where I came from."

"I'm sure he doesn't." Tish snorted, then her expression softened with sympathy. "Amber, sweetheart, Ranan Juno is engaged to be married tomorrow afternoon to a Kaldeshian heiress. It's been the talk here all night."

The girl looked stunned and sat back in her chair.

"That's...that's impossible..."

"He was using you for a last fling, and you're smarter than that. But you let the wine go to your head and believed every pipe dream he fed you, didn't you. Did he tell you he would build you a big white house? Keep horses? Children?"

Tish decided to back off when Amber put her head down on her arms and wept.

"I miss him," she cried, voice muffled by her sleeve, "I miss him so much."

Tish knew she wasn't speaking of her would-be lover.

"I know love. I miss him too. And terribly. We all do. And it hurts us even more to watch you disrespect his memory."

"I'm sorry....I just don't know what to do now that he's gone. I'm not a good enough singer to follow him."

"No, but his name is still known, and it's still yours. I think that as long as you keep it a respectable name it can be good to you. But we'll talk about it in the morning. Right now I want you to drink your tea and go to bed."

Amber sniffed and obeyed mutely, unable to look her foster mother in the face. At the foot of the stairs she turned and threw her arms around the woman in a fierce hug. Tish held her a moment and smoothed out a tangle in the gyspy braids Amber still wore for luck.

"Its ok sprout," she said gently, "you've got some family left."

Amber woke earlier than usual and groaned as the rays of the sun drove what felt like blunted nails into the backs of her eye sockets. She rolled out of bed and pulled on a random set of clothing, not even bothering to see if they were clean. She stumbled down to the bar and poured herself a shot, raising it in a toast to the morning sun against the picture windows.

"Hair of the dog..."

She tossed it back and grimaced. She looked gravely at the bottle, then jammed the cork back into the neck. She went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of strong black coffee, carrying it to a corner table to think.

By the time Tish silently joined her at the table an hour later Amber was sketching on a sheet of parchment with a flush of excitement. She acknowledged the woman's presence with a bare nod and kept drawing. When Grander was lured through the room by the smell of coffee he was stopped in his tracks by a war whoop from Amber. She jumped out of her chair and planted kisses on the cheeks of her surrogate parents before dancing over to the posting board and tacking the parchment to it.

Tish and Grander exchanged long looks, smiles tugging at both their mouths. Amber did another wild dance around the room before collapsing in her chair to catch her breath. She looked at the two immobile adults and acted piqued.

"Well!? Aren't you going to read it?"

They made their way to the posting board.

_Introducing unto the city Amber Otho, a barkeep of extraordinary style and integrity, now available to hire for private events, parties, and short-term replacement.__ Please enquire care of the May Leaf, Lansovar._

Amber's career as a wandering barkeep began auspiciously. An officer's award banquet found itself shorthanded at the last minute when their barkeep dodged his gambling debts right out of the country. The messenger sent to bring her to the interview showed her into the hotel office where a nervous, sweating man paced the floor. When she entered he looked up and gave her a clinical once-over that ended in a more personal scrutiny.

Amber had retained some training by her father and immediately swept a formal bow to the man. She kept her movements fluid and slightly pretentious at all times, and smiled warmly while offering her hand. The man held it overlong, and gave it a sweaty, caressing shake that made her want to wipe her hands on her tunic.

"You're awfully young..."

The man's statement was tinged with a certain eagerness that Amber reluctantly played to.

"Old enough."

Her eyes meet his for a long moment, then flicked back to the wall behind him. He became, if possible, even more agitated. Her eyes barely moved as she took note of his balding, greasy head and the food stains of various antiquity running down his unwashed shirt. He sat across from her and tore his eyes away long enough to peruse the papers in front of him.

"Well your recommendations are excellent, and of course your father played here in his time. I will offer you the contract. The terms are two percent of the profit at your till, plus tips."

She considered taking it, after all this was her first job. But she knew that whatever price she agreed to would be locked in for years to come. She reluctantly placed her folded arms on the man's desk and leaned forward, offering him a clear view down her neckline.

"Five percent, unfortunately, is my standard fee."

The man started to shake his head, but Amber met his eye again with a knowing smile and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. He leaned forward closer to her and she managed to not wrinkle her nose. He studied her face anxiously, then nodded.

"Five percent."

He changed the wording on the contracts before him and initialed the changes before signing. She scribbled her own name and plucked her copy neatly from his fingertips as she headed out the door. He opened his mouth if to call her back, but was thankfully silenced by the click of the heavy oak door swinging smoothly into its frame. She caught a last view of his angry and disappointed face, and laid a theatrical kiss on the rolled contract in her hand. Once outside, she tipped her hat to the messenger and finally took the time to wipe her hand on her tunic, disgusted.

She quickly became a success, and fell into such demand that she was able to raise her take of each night's profit by another five percent. She became the favorite of some of the less reputable guilds, for she was discreet and professional, looked the other way when asked, and did not gossip about what she heard on the job. She became the darling of the city guard, who nicknamed her "Whiskey" and took her under their wing as a sister and mascot after she humiliated a much hated officer in a drinking contest. They were violently protective of her reputation when rumors were spread, which at times caused more trouble for her than it resolved. She poured for the high nobles and the seediest riverfront rowdies and found little difference between the two under the leveling influence of music and drink.

Six years and a string of wrong men later she was standing behind the main bar at the Governor's annual masquerade ball, watching the richest couples in Lansovar turning languidly to an equally apathetic orchestra, and wishing she had chosen a livelier appointment for that evening.

Still, it had its perks. She reminded herself that she didn't have to fight off as many drunken groping hands at these high-blown gigs. In fact, her station in life as servant kept most of the men from noticing her as anything but practical decoration. This, of course, suited her just fine.

She continued to smile through these reflections, finding just the right balance between the friendly warmth required for tips, and the cool distance preferred by most of this crowd when it came to the hired help. She finished mixing a series of weak but colorful drinks for a gaggle of powdered and beribboned women and turned to help the next customer. A pair of piercing blue eyes smiled at her from behind a black leather mask, and her carefully arranged expression faltered for a moment. After staring for a few seconds she realized with horror that she was actually blushing and tossed her hair defiantly behind her shoulders.

"What can I pour you, sir?"

He continued to stare for a moment, then gave his own head a quick shake. She registered that he was as disconcerted as her, and the knowledge gave her back a measure of control. He leaned onto the counter without moving his eyes from hers. Amber noticed that when he leaned, he rested on the tips of his fingers. His balance was that of a duelist, but his hands were nobleman's hands, without callus or scar.

"My name is Ihan bin'ferroch, May I buy something for you?"

The name didn't sound Catavan, but then the event was diplomatic, and dancers in exotic foreign dress and speech had been up to the bar all evening.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A drink, of course. To start."

Her eyes gleamed in amused challenge.

"What can you afford?"

His lips and eyes smiled around the mask again, accepting the challenge.

"I can't quite afford to buy the city itself."

Amber shrugged pulled a bottle adorned with silver filigree from a special locked shelf beneath the bar. She watched the man's impassive eyes as she poured a shot of the dark hundred-year old whiskey. He never blinked, and his composure was somewhat unnerving. She raised the shot to him in a toast and drank it down in one swallow. The drink was smooth and powerful, and left the taste of smoky peat on her tongue. She carefully replaced the cork and set the bottle back on its shelf.

"That will be fifty gold."

The man's smile, if anything, widened.

"How much for the rest of the bottle?"

Whiskey raised an eyebrow and quirked her mouth.

"One thousand."

The man pulled out a thick pouch and began counting platinum coins onto the table, each worth ten pieces of gold. When there were five stacks of twenty Whiskey pulled the bottle from behind the bar and set it carefully in front of him. He waved it aside with a casual gesture.

"Give me one glass, no ice. Keep the rest."

She poured him a glass, and barely managed to keep her hands from shaking. He accepted it with a bow, tipped her another platinum coin, and strode off into the room.

She tracked him with her eyes throughout the night, taking note that he never danced with the same woman twice. At the end of the ball he returned to the bar as she was wiping it down.

"If you wish to share that bewitching bottle, I would welcome your company in my suite."

She laughed out of habit.

"Sorry, against my policy to...shall we say fraternize...with patrons of my employer."

"That's a shame, because I don't have in mind what I think you assume. I am here on business from Thardunn, and haven't had a moment yet when I've been free to have a real, non-diplomatic conversation on which nothing hinges but out own opinions. I was hoping you'd be free for a nightcap, and perhaps a game of cards."

She assessed him carefully, but found no indication that he was lying. She lost a brief argument with herself and nodded.

"Wonderful," he said, "Suite 210, when you're finished here."

She couldn't help watching him as he walked away.

The next week was a blur for her. They spent most of the time in Ihan's bed, with occasional forays into the town when the scenery became too monotonous for them. When he asked her to return to Thardunn with him she accepted readily, to the dismay of Tish, Grander and her wide circle of friends. As she packed for the carriage ride her foster parents hovered anxiously nearby.

"Do you have something warm to wear?" asked Tish for the umpteenth time.

Whiskey nodded again and smiled patiently at her.

"It's all right Tish, in fact it's more than all right. I've finally found the one!"

Tish and Grander exchanged dubious looks with her past disastrous love affairs firmly in mind.

"Well, your bed will always be open to you here Amber," said Grander, "In case you feel like visiting... or coming back."

Whiskey hugged them both with a laugh.

"Oh ye of little faith! I may come back to visit, although probably not right away. But this one's going to be forever, you'll see."

Grander helped her into her carriage with a stern eye towards her new lover. Ihan took it all in smoothly and shook hands with Grander and Tish. His behavior towards Amber was courteous enough to appease Grander, and smooth enough to raise Tish's suspicions. But she bit her tongue against them, and waved reluctantly to the carriage as it flew down the eastern road to the Unclaimed Territories.


	3. Smoke and Illusions

**Chapter Three: Smoke and Illusions**

Whiskey yawned and stretched catlike between the sheets next to Ihan. He gazed down at her with adoration, but also some regret. The last month in these rooms rented from a discrete and loyal Innkeeper had been idyllic, but he knew he could only push the expectation of his wife's return to the city by a week. Any more than that would be risking more than his life. His wife was a powerful and cruel woman who could make a man beg to die, just so that she could deny even that mercy.

He made no indication of the looming shadow that would soon storm on their relationship, and the attractive and energetic bartender he'd picked up in Lansovar did not even know he was married. Ihan knew it would be dangerous, but considered setting the girl up in another city to visit whenever _she_ was away. He looked down at the girl's soft grey eyes and not for the first time, regretted ever agreeing to a marriage of power to the daughter of an ambitious nobleman. He'd met his wife on their wedding day, and after the obligatory consummation she alone decided when he was allowed to enter her bed.

His new lover smiled up at him and reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He studied the lines of the vine and leaf tattoo that curled up her arm from the elbow to the shoulder, and traced the fine lines of scars scattered around her body. She'd told him stories of how she'd acquired them, at least those she still remembered. He had a few scars from his childhood, but once he became caught up in the moment he embellished them to trophies of fever-pitched battle on the plains of Ardunn. He was rewarded by her admiration, worth more than the pangs of guilt could destroy.

Whiskey loved Ihan as fiercely after five weeks as she had at the beginning. She thought warmly of the jewelry he'd lavished on her already, and even more warmly of his slow, mysterious smile and quick wit. She leaned up on one elbow impulsively and planted a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He gave a low chuckle and a more traditional kiss before rolling to his feet next to the bed. She watched with some amusement as he strode to the washroom unselfconsciously naked.

"What are we doing for dinner?" she called through the door as she heard the water splashing.

"A surprise m'love. I know how you like those!"

She grinned and shook her head. He was always surprising her with one thing or another.

"Then how am I supposed to know what to wear?"

"I think you're dressed perfectly." He said with a leer as he emerged from the washroom. She looked down at the cotton bed sheet wrapped around her and barked a laugh.

"If I'm to be in the skin I'm in, then are you in skin as well m'dear?"

"Its too early for your riddles and tongue twisters m'love." He replied with a kiss.

"Early? It's after sunset. You know, one of these days I'd like to see the town by daylight."

She began to tidy up the clothing and belongings scattered around the room as she did each time they went out. Her weapons and jewels went under the bed, both for the sake of safety and because the piles of clothing he'd bought her since their arrival took up every other available space. She pulled the box from under the bed and began holding up necklaces to her chest.

"What about this one? Do you like the sapphire?"

"With what dress?"

She shook her head with a teasing smile. "As the jewelry costs more than the dress I should coordinate the clothes to the baubles instead of the other way around."

"Those baubles are indeed expensive, but the dress was nothing to sneeze at."

She poked her tongue out at him, eliciting another chuckle, and picked through the pieces in the box until she found what she was looking for.

"The emeralds I think. I like the new green dress you had made up."

"What happened to selecting the jewels first, then the dress to match?"

"Well in all matters of diplomatic relationships one must maintain willingness to compromise. That's what you said at your last speech was it not?"

"It was, and how dare you mix work with pleasure by tossing that bit of empty silliness back at me."

She laughed at his mock scowl and blew him a kiss.

"Forgive me of course m'love, I promise not to bring up work for the rest of the night."

"Apology, and deal accepted. Now I won..."

He broke off suddenly at a crashing and raised voices downstairs. They could discern footsteps climbing quickly and clumsily up the staircase, and Whiskey had a superstitious flash of some undead creature out of a nightmare approaching. She pulled her weapons belt from under the bed and strapped it around her bare waist, ready to draw a blade if there was a threat. Ihan followed suit, but seemed even more nervous that he should. She could hear a large creature approach the door, then fall against it. Whiskey showed a bare inch of steel. The doorknob rattled for a moment then turned, and the door swung abruptly inward, spilling the Innkeeper into the room. He was covered with blood still flowing from a head wound, but when Ihan and Whiskey both moved to approach him he waved them violently away.

"Ihan...." he began in a hoarse whisper, "Ihan your wife... back early. You must run."

Whiskey was startled into a brittle laugh.

"Your wife? What kind of joke is this Ihan darling?"

She turned to look at him, and saw stark white queasy terror on his face. The truth was written into that expression of fear and Whiskey was chilled to the heart.

"Ihan?"

She took a step towards her and he suddenly dragged his gaze from the dying Innkeeper to her.

"Run Amber, she'll kill us both, or worse. And keep running, and pray she never finds out who you are."

The dark tones set a fear in her that battled with hot rage at his dishonesty. She was saved from the decision of whether to attack him, insult him or cry by the sound of more footsteps on the stairs, most of them heavily booted. She headed towards the closet to throw on the first clothing she could find, when the doorway filled with people.

A small, composed woman was in front. She might have been pretty if not for the look of cold steel in her eyes and the set pursed line of her lips. Amber froze. The woman was followed by several well-armed men who carried themselves as if they knew how to use what they carried. Amber sized up the odds, then edged back towards the room's only window. The woman saw them both, but the only change in her expression was a slight tightening of the jaw. She stepped over the Innkeeper as if she didn't see him. With no more signal than a flick of her eyes, the guard to her left grinned and placed one foot on the Innkeeper's neck, adding pressure until the man's face was purple. Ihan took a half step forward in protest.

"Willhemena...."

She smiled, and in response the guard bore down his full weight and twisted the heel. A wet snapping sound echoed around the chamber as the Innkeeper's neck broke, and his rattled breathing filled the air for only a few seconds more.

The woman nodded in satisfaction, then turned her cold gaze to Amber. Ihan took another reluctant half step forward.

"Willhemena, please, I beg you....she didn't even know I was married."

For the first time, an expression thawed the woman's face, although the composed blankness was preferable to the mad half-smile she gave Ihan.

"Beg me, husband? Yes, you will beg for many things."

She turned around and strode serenely from the room, while the guards parted automatically for her passing, then closed in to fill the gap. Amber thought of waves parting before a ship, and as they were thus distracted, she made eye contact with Ihan. He was shaking and pale, but when she made a barely perceptible flick of her eyes towards the window, she saw an answering gleam.

They broke at the same time. Amber tumbled across the bed rather than cut around, and scooped up the box of jewelry as she rolled. She also snagged both their coin purses from the end table as it passed within reach. Ihan was already scrambling down the thick ivy clinging to the stone beneath their window. Amber tucked the box of jewels under the belt she wore, clamped the strings of the money pouches in her teeth, and dove out the window. She broke her fall by clutching at ivy, and rolled on the landing to regain her feet. She limped a few paces before her jarred joints recovered, and waited around a darkened corner for Ihan to make it down the wall.

She heard the Inn door slam and chanced a quick glance around the corner. Ihan's wife had emerged from the Inn with two men in robes. Ihan jumped the last five feet of the climb, and straightened to find himself facing the trio. He paled again and backed a few steps. Amber steeled herself to draw her blades and rush the group, possibly to her death, when the robed figure to the woman's left began casting. Amber chanced another look, and saw Ihan stiffen. He looked wildly around the square and shouted,

"Amber! Run!"

As the robed figure finished his incantations, Ihan slumped to the ground in a heap. The woman nodded in satisfaction. When the guards came rushing down they took up his still body and bound it. They then gathered around the woman, who spoke to them in a calm, firm voice.

"Spread out gentlemen. Find her or you join him."

Amber chilled, and faded back into the shadows. She crept far enough down the alley that her footsteps would not be heard, and ran. She could hear the sound of the search fading behind her. When she first stopped to catch her breath, she noticed a curtain stir behind her. Realizing an armed, naked, tattooed woman running through the streets would cause comment to track her by, she moved another block and liberated shirt, pants, stockings, and cloak from a clothesline. She dressed in the shadows but tucked the socks in her pocket for when she could acquire shoes of some kind. She pulled the hood of the cloak up to hide her face and hair, and slipped from shadow to shadow to the city's edge.

She was chilled to see a roadblock at the usually unmanned guard station. She ducked back into an ally to watch, and saw several men resembling those in her room at the Inn shining a lantern into each face and searching each wagon. Drawing in her breath she faded back into the city. Just before dawn, when her gray cloak blended into the dew-soaked stone of the city walls, she climbed barefoot over the top, and set off across the pastureland.

At the first crossroads she came to she approached the local Inn with weary, footsore relief. As she reached out to touch the door she was confronted by a chilling sketch of herself plastered on the door. The shock of recognition held her frozen for a moment before her eyes traveled downwards and saw the reward notice.

"_How did they get here so fast? By the Gods, this woman is powerful." _She thought to herself. With a quick glance around her she saw that no one was watching. The town seemed to all but close down in the lazy high-heat of the afternoon. She quickly tore the poster from the door and stuffed it in her belt before moving on.

She turned at every crossroads she came to, but it was days before she found a town without posters. Even then she left her hood up as she entered the general store. She had enough in her pouch to buy a pair of supple leather boots, soft on her sore feet, but springy enough to make walking pleasant. She also purchased a bedroll, backpack, and other camping supplies, reluctantly admitting that Inns in general may be dangerous until she hit Lansovar again. She found quite a bit of money left in Ihan's purse, and between that and the jewelry, felt justified in splurging on a few luxuries. She bought a better-fitting outfit that would hold up on the journey, a set of leather armor in case she did come across the flyer-posters, and a good horse to speed her way. In the interest of making even the wilderness as civilized as possible, she also purchased a bottle of decent whiskey, a leather flask, two shot glasses made of cured and coated leather, and some potion vials of lemon juice. She hesitated before adding a bottle of good Madrezarian wine to the stack. After all, if she needed information it was a good tool. Feeling expansive and nostalgic, she tossed a deck of cards onto the purchase pile, hoping it would help her pass the time.

Her new outfitting took a good deal of the money in both pouches, leaving her only a dozen gold coins and a scant handful of silver. She patted the jewelry box carefully, tucking it deep into her backpack to prevent pick-pocketing. When she continued on the road, she found the horse's pace easy, and the weather warm enough to be comfortable. Lonely for human company, she kept herself company and sang her entire repertoire of drinking songs, some quietly, others at a bellow, until her voice was only a squeak.

She continued cross-country for two weeks before her money ran low enough for her to consider selling the jewelry. She had avoided it before, feeling as if selling it would be disloyal to Ihan's memory. He must surely be dead by then. But necessity outranked nostalgia and she entered the next jeweler she came across.

The man took some time to examine the first piece. When he finished, he looked up at Amber with a cool, but slightly hostile tone.

"And what is it you're trying to pull over on me?"

Amber looked confused, losing her assumed attitude of confident boredom so that the shopkeeper did not know she was desperate for the money.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that innocent look girlie, I'm sure you know the penalty for passing on fakes as real gems."

Amber's world swam, and what she'd seen as a foundation suddenly crumbled. She could only stare open-mouthed at the shop-keeper. The man was disconcerted at her obvious shock, and more so when she slumped suddenly to the floor against the counter. He shouted for help and hurried around the counter where she sat with her head between her knees, shaking it in wonder. The man patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I assumed you knew they were fake, do you need some water miss?"

Amber shook her head again and sat up to rest it against the counter, looking upwards. After a moment of considering the long string of events leading up to this moment of rock-bottom, she saw in it a spark of humor. She began to chuckle, then laugh hysterically. She laughed until her ribs ached and tears flowed from her eyes. The shopkeeper's wife and son came down from their living space to see what the commotion was, and after studying Amber's laughter for a scant second the wife slapped her lightly on both cheeks, shocking her out of her hysteria. Amber closed her eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them again she was calm, although there was a certain brittleness to that calm. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and struggled to her feet. The shopkeep's wife hovered nearby, wavering between anxiety for this girl found crying in their shop, and suspicion for her mental stability. Amber nodded to her with a rueful smile.

"Thanks for that, I needed it."

The wife nodded and finally relaxed. Amber looked hopelessly at the box of jewelry.

"Are they worth anything at all?"

The shopkeeper gave an encouraging nod.

"Not as much as they'd be if they were real, but they're really good imitations and there is some demand for that sort of thing.

"How much?"

The shopkeeper carefully examined each piece, and while she held back a slim hope that one might be real, she was too practical to expect it. When the shopkeeper finished he looked up at her and ran one hand through what remained of his hair.

"I can give you fifty gold for it all."

Amber was numb to more shocks, so the drop in value of several hundred thousand gold did not even touch her. It was something. She nodded in acceptance and he counted out the coins. She left with a jaunty salute of thanks, and rode away. That night in celebration she finished the whiskey bottle, alternately toasting and cursing Ihan and his wife with every shot, until she was roaring at the moon and setting off dogs barking in the distance. As a final crescendo, she smashed the empty bottle in her campfire and collapsed on the bedroll beside the coals.


	4. On the Cot With the Queen's Shilling

**Chapter Two: On the Cot With the Queen's Shilling**

She awoke to the taste of death in her mouth and the feel of it in her head and stomach. She rinsed her mouth with water to take away the sensation of having chewed sticky dough, and looked around for her horse. She paused in disbelief and rubbed her eyes for a moment. She looked for her horse again. She stepped over and inspected where it had been tied the evening before, but not even the ground peg was left. She sat back down.

After a moment to compose herself she threw out a long string of curses and kicked a stump. She cursed some more in various languages and limped around the campsite, shoving her belongings impatiently into her backpack. With a baleful eye towards the horizon she trudged after the horse. The trail was easy to find, after all anything that large moving through tall grass left signs. She walked for hours in a slow wavering curve. When she realized the trail was heading back to the town where she bought it, she slowed her pace to a more casual stroll and managed to laugh at her situation. She envisioned the comic surprise on the horse trader's face when the horse he'd just sold came trotting back into his barn, ready for its morning oats.

She didn't notice the trail sloping downward, or the increase in insects, but when her foot came down in a soggy pool of stagnant mud, she did notice that she'd never waterproofed her new boots. She felt the wet chill ooze between her toes, and a murderous gleam came into her eye. She counted slowly and quietly to ten in Madrezarian, then in Khaldeshian. When she felt she was sufficiently calmed, she turned one accusing eye to the sky.

"You know," she said, addressing the gods in general, "I'm sure this is pretty amusing and all for someone up there, but can't a girl get a break every now and again?"

Her foot made a squelching sound as she pulled it from the mud, and with each step she took after that. She looked back up at the sky with an ironic smile, but even as she drew a breath to berate the gods again, she was startled by a shout that sounded no more than twenty feet to her left.

"Who goes there?"

She froze and ducked down behind a handy bush, wondering if she'd been caught trespassing, or worse. At any rate, any contact with officials did not bode well. She listened for a moment with a pounding heart, but heard only the fast approach of a horse from the South. The hoofbeats sounded as if they would pass near where the voice shouted from, but as they reached that point she heard the horse skitter to a stop as if it had been pulled up hard.

"Seargent," said the first voice in recognition, "I take it you bring new orders from Madame bin'Ferroch."

Amber started at hearing Ihan's last name, and realized she had stumbled across his wife's guards. She almost missed the next exchange as she concentrated on crawling silently closer to the conversation. A second voice answered with a strong accent of Eastern Thardunn.

"I do Captain. We know now the girl's from Lansovar and will most likely be heading there. She goes by the name of Amber Osho. She's also a bartender, so your search should concentrate on the Inns and Taverns. As this road leads eventually to Lansovar it is under suspicion and you must be diligent."

"How diligent, if we come across someone who knows her?"

"Madame has ordered us to stay clean. If someone gets in our way we are to take care of it. But otherwise we are to avoid as much collateral death as possible so as to not strain diplomatic ties with Lansovar."

"Very well."

"Anything new to report?"

"No. We came across a loose horse a few hours ago, and are hoping to track it down to an owner in case she purchased it on the road. So far no luck but we're proceeding North."

"Sounds like a long-shot. Stick to the original orders. Is that all?"

"That is all, Sir."

"Very good. I bid you good day."

Amber heard the horse gallop away in the direction it came from and risked a quick peek through the underbrush. She made out a road, but a narrower one than she'd been traveling. She counted a visible half-dozen neat, efficient soldiers in crisp tabards receiving orders from a mounted giant of a man, a hulking brute she recognized from Ihan's room at the Inn. This monster seemed to be the leader, and she recognized the voice as the one reporting to the Sergeant. Her horse, still wearing its halter and lead rope, nibbled grass contentedly by one of the soldiers' mounts. Amber suppressed the urge to swear out loud, but repeated several inappropriate phrases in her mind, going through every language she could remember. She even dredged up the distant memories of Orcish insults Grander had once taught her while she waited for the group of soldiers to move on to a safe distance.

They were efficient; she had to grant them that. Within moments the leader had finished relaying their new orders to the rest, and they wheeled their horses smartly to continue down the path. When they were no longer in earshot she quietly crept back from her vantage point and down her back trail.

_"They know who I am,_" began her train of thought, _"And where I'm from, and what I do."_

The information could only have come from Ihan, and she felt a moment of sympathy for the poor man before she remembered to be angry.

_"Then they know everything Ihan knows. Where I've been, who I know... the May Leaf!"_

She stopped abruptly with the realization that she was not the only one in danger. She had been heading to Lansovar with a vague idea of seeking help from Tish, Grander, and her friends in the city guard, but if she tried to contact anyone she knew they would be in danger, perhaps even killed.

_"Or worse.__ Do you want that to happen to Tish?"_

She couldn't go home. Not yet. But a sudden irreverent thought occurred to her.

_"If I hadn't found out the jewels were fake, I wouldn't have gotten drunk and I wouldn't have lost my horse. If I hadn't tracked it here I'd have never known about the danger back in Lansovar."_

She looked ruefully up at the sky and spoke out loud.

"And if I hadn't stepped in the damn bog I would have stumbled right into their surprised, but oh so efficient arms, is that good enough?"

She put both hands on her hips and tapped one foot, suppressing a laugh at the squelching noise it was still making.

"Ok, I get it, but wasn't there a more direct means of getting it across? Maybe without ruining a good pair of boots?"

The first strains of an old song drifted through her head, but she couldn't quite remember the words beyond the first verse. _A pretty maid from Madrezar, there was a long while by... _She hummed it as she walked, searching her mind for ideas on how to proceed next. She knew she needed a place to hide out for some time, until the search died down. But she also knew she'd have to take care of the situation eventually, and would need help. At any rate, she needed to stay out of sight. And stretch her funds as far as possible.

She stayed off the roads for the next month, traveling overland away from Madrezar and home. She risked stopping in small, out of the way towns to replenish supplies. She purchased new boots as the old ones wore thin, and resigned herself to cheap whiskey for the road. She relaxed somewhat as she encountered fewer posters, but the search had not been abandoned entirely, as she found one in the window of a general store she had been about to enter. Whistling casually, she pretended to read it, then turned away as if uninterested in either the store or the poster. She hadn't gone more than a step when she ran into a man wearing plate mail and a blue tabard, carrying a sheaf of posters.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, and leaned over to help him collect his fallen papers. She looked them over nervously, but they did not have her face on them.

"Yes, excuse you," the man said begrudgingly, then caught a glimpse of her face.

"I mean excuse me," he said in a much more amenable tone, "I wasn't looking where I was going of course."

She smiled non-committedly and handed him his flyers. He thanked her a bit too warmly but she only nodded politely in returned and tried to move past him. To her annoyance, he took a step sideways to block her path.

"Are you here to join the company? We're over at the Inn."

She looked at him suspiciously, suspecting a trick of some kind despite the fact that the tabards were entirely different from the guards hunting her.

"What company? A theater guild?"

Her interest was somewhat sparked, she could do theater, and the masks she wore would grant her some anonymity. But he dashed that plan before it could fully form.

"No, a Mercenary Company. We're on a recruitment drive before we push on."

"Oh. No thanks, a bit too high-profile for my taste. But thanks anyhow."

She slipped past him and looked over the flyer she'd kept. Her eyes kept roaming back to the mention of pay and sign-on bonuses, but it also mentioned anonymity and protection in exchange for duties in the company. She leaned nonchalantly against a post to consider it.

In the end it was the prospect of human company that decided her, above and beyond the need for more that the half-dozen coppers she had left. She'd been gregarious her whole life and traveling alone had depressed her to the point where she was tempted to take the risk and stop off at an Inn for a night, just for some conversation. She decided to at least take a look.

There was a man at a table outside the Inn. A nervous looking boy was answering questions for the man, trying desperately to look older than his slim fourteen years. The man shook his head and the boy ran off with a dejected slump in his shoulders. Amber drew a breath for confidence and approached the table.

"Are you above the age of sixteen and of sound mind and body?" The man asked without even glancing up.

"Last I checked, but stranger things have happened."

He lifted eyes completely devoid of humor to her's and she tried to control her urge to laugh. He kept his expression blank as he continued.

"Sign here. What name will you be using with the company?"

She glanced up, hoping she heard him correctly.

"What do you mean, I don't have to go by my real name?"

He shook his head. Her own mind seized on something finally going right for her and she tossed a jaunty salute to the sky. He raised one eyebrow but otherwise kept his face devoid of expression. She did laugh then, and told him the first name that came to mind.

"Whiskey."

He looked disapproving and wrote it down.

"Here's your tabard and your signing bonus with your first month's pay. Please proceed to the Inn. You're assigned to the seventh, you'll recognize them by the dwarf sitting with them."

He pursed his lips and gave her a stern glare.

"A meal and drinks will be provided for you at the Inn..._within reason_. Anything more expensive than beer, you'll have to buy yourself. Also understand that the Baron will be by in two hours time to address the company and assign orders. You are to be functional at that time."

"Not a problem old boy. I have no plans to get shlockered amongst strangers."

"_See_ that you do not."

He had given her a blue tabard and a reassuringly full coin purse which curbed her tongue from poking fun at the dour soldier. She draped the former over one arm, tucked the latter inside her clothing, and marched into the Inn. The room was a sea of blue turned grey from smoke. She waded around several tables of mostly human men before she found the aforementioned dwarf. She spied an empty chair at the same table and flipped it around to sit with her chin resting on the back.

"Hello gentlemen, I understand this is the seventh, although the seventh _what_ I'm not quite sure of yet."


End file.
